


One Last Gamble

by Chirhoiota



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, London, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6044959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chirhoiota/pseuds/Chirhoiota
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor is a rude customer who frequents at a café who seems to always be on the phone and only ever orders coffee and Clara just happens to be serving him. His first introductions certainly gave him the impression of an arrogant and outright rude but can Clara shed a light into him? They soon find out that they're just both lonely and need each other in many other ways than just companionship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Working in a café, minimum wage – didn’t sound that bad at first. It isn’t like Clara was complaining. Her job was relatively stress-free, all she had to do was run the till and serve hot drinks. When Clara thought of the 21st century, she thought of civilized and decent people but her attitude towards that quickly changed after an encounter with a man perhaps from the 19th century.

 

 

 

 

He was well dressed, aged man from what she could see who wore an almost permanent scowl. It was what did Clara’s mind today, she doesn’t get how people can be so crude and impolite these days. It’s better for everyone to just wear a smile, act happy and take their stress elsewhere rather than on a lowly working class.

 

 

 

 

“Hello, how may I help you?”

 

 

 

 

“Coffee. Take away.” He answered, rifling through his pockets whilst speaking on his phone. Finding his rewards card he flashes at Clara and places it on the counter expecting her to deal with his purchase. Normally, customers would do these themselves but apparently it doesn’t apply to him. As Clara tapped the rewards card on the card reader she sees that the balance is zero.

 

 

 

 

“Sorry sir, but your balance on your rewards card is zero. Do you have other means of payment?”

 

 

 

 

He’d given her his credit card and had placed on the reader, “Do you want to keep your rewards card or for me to dispose of it?” Clara saw him shrug and waved his hand at her dismissively and throughout that whole conversation he hadn’t bothered to even say hello or make eye contact- as if to dismiss her entire existence.

 

 

 

 

Then presuming from the dismissive gesture, Clara threw the card into the bin and went to go make the coffee.

 

 

 

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He says suddenly in his Scottish lilt, Clara promptly spun around to see what he wanted.

 

 

 

 

“Yes sir? What seems to be the problem?” Putting on her honeyed voice and a smile she confronted him.

 

 

 

 

“Why did you throw it away? I didn’t ask you to do that, now, did I?” He reprimanded her like a child.

 

 

 

 

“Well, sir I just assumed that you wanted me to throw it out since you hadn’t answered _back_ and even bothered to even speak to me properly--”

 

 

 

“ ** _Just_** get me the coffee.” He interrupted starkly.

 

 

 

 

“What’s your name sir?”

 

 

 

 

“The Doctor.”  Clara immediately thought that by using his title as his name he was shown to be quite pretentious which outright reflected his whole personality.

 

 

 

 

So Clara did what her job required wrote his name on the cup and returned with his hot cup of coffee and he’d actually stopped talking on the phone for once.

 

 

 

 

“Here you go, _sir_. Have a nice day.”

 

 

 

 

“Yes, no thanks to you.” And it was at that exact moment, she could have taken the chance to punch him straight on that stupid nose of his but Clara knew better that this one man wasn’t worth her job and her time, “took you long enough.”

 

 

 

 

“Look, sir, we’re a bit short-staffed as you can see. I’m trying my best here.” Clara tells him and taking the coffee from her hand he leaves the café as she calls for the next customer, hoping that he wouldn’t encounter anyone like him for the rest of her shift. Looking at the credit card that held the name _, Dr. Smith_ on the counter, a smile formed on her lips in triumph.

 

 

 

 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 

 

 

 

After work, before heading back home she decided to stroll around the high street for a bit. Changing her uniform into her own clothes, she puts her jacket on and leaves. Looking around she could see that the shop display windows had turned festive, now that Christmas was just around the corner. She still didn’t have any thoughts on what to get her Dad and his wife for presents but she really couldn’t care less. She could be Ebenezer Scrooge for all she wants.

 

 

 

 

It was eventually at Waterstones, where she ended up in. Wandering aimlessly, Clara thought to visit the bestselling author section for a new book to keep her mind off things. Spending 20 minutes or so of reading, flicking through and browsing, she found one that piqued her interest and decided to purchase it to finish it at home.

 

 

 

 

Heading towards the check-out she reached for her trouser pocket to retrieve her wallet and received a dark coloured credit card instead. Unfamiliar to her, Clara immediately made the connection between it and that silver, curly haired prick she encountered that morning.

 

 

 

 

Quickly hiding the card back inside her pocket she then preceded to the check out and by chance right in front of her- well she couldn’t really believe it herself- was _him._

 

 

 

 

Right now she depended on the likelihood that she wouldn’t get noticed. Clara thought that it was going to be simple. He would just simply take no notice of her existence and _not_ turn around. However, for some reason, he just had to look behind him as if to notice a familiar presence and as soon as it happened, Clara felt her heart stop at that instant.

 

 

 

 

“Hello… Clara? _Is it?_ ” He said to her. To be frank, she was shocked at the fact that he had managed to greet her this time around and he’d even read her nametag.

 

 

 

 

“Oh, hi yes… you-” quickly she’d reach for her pocket containing his card and presented it to him, “you left this.” He took it, looking at the woman before him then he did a double take on the book that Clara was holding.

 

 

 

 

“Hm, that’s a great book.” The Doctor stated certainly, “you’ll be up all tonight reading that.

 

 

 

 

“What do you want?” Clara’s tone turned sharp as she noticed that the Doctor was attempting small talk with her. Lest he’d forgotten, they’re not in good terms with one another, “I don’t like you- you know that?”

 

 

 

 

“I’m just saying that it’s a good book. Don’t need to be rude about it.”

 

 

 

 

“You’re one to speak.” Clara retorted through gritted teeth and saw the Doctor give her a lopsided grin which greatly irked her. It was enough for her to drive her to do what she did next. She slapped him. Yes, on the cheek. A punch would have felt better but a slap would suffice. He gently placed his hand to where she had slapped him and felt it go tender and hot.

 

 

 

 

“Ow.” He blurts out faintly. Clara was having none of it and pushed right past him to the checkout. The woman at the counter was sure to give her weird looks so she severed any eye contact with anybody as she wanted to get out the shop, pronto. So, she pocketed out some pound coins onto the counter, “Keep the change,” And then promptly left.

 

 

 

 

Thinking that she had escaped the whole occurrence she wasn’t happy to find the Doctor walking towards her in a hurried manner. She could run but she wouldn’t, she would stand her ground. Actually, on second thought Clara didn’t feel as brave a she would like to be. Maybe she shouldn’t have slapped him.

 

 

 

 

“Hey… Clara!” He called for her. _Clara_ however didn’t respond but looked right at him and waited until he was close enough.

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry. Doctor… _Smith_ uh for my actions back there, it was uncalled for. I was in a bad temper, I shouldn’t have-”

 

 

 

 

“Isn’t everybody?” The Doctor replied coolly and then at once Clara figured out what she had just said and what she had done not just to him but with how she treated the woman in the shop.

 

 

 

 

“Oh my god, I’m no better am I? That’s no excuse for me…” Clara confessed, feeling even guiltier she looked away.

 

 

 

 

“You also hadn’t given the woman enough money. You were at least 2 pounds short.” He revealed to her, “Don’t worry, I’ve paid for it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Slowly, Clara lifted her head to look at him feeling that he was a little too close for comfort she took a step back, “No… you shouldn’t have, I should have paid her. I don’t need your pity.”

 

 

 

 

“Look Clara, just accept it. She wouldn’t exactly be entirely happy to see your face there again-”

 

 

 

 

“Oh _thanks._ ” She replied scornfully.

 

 

 

 

“-and I didn’t come here just to tell you that. I came to you to say that _I’m sorry,_ I had been in a bad temper too like you had been-”

 

 

 

 

“Well… unlike you, you were the one who had been doing my temper in the whole day. _Jerk._ ”

 

 

 

 

“Don’t talk to me like that, lass. I’m old enough to be your father.”

 

 

 

 

“Well, you _aren’t_ my father.” Clara couldn’t discern whether he was serious or not but she told him that anyway, she wasn’t going to lose to a little reprimanding- she wasn’t a child.

 

 

 

 

There was pregnant pause after that, making the current situation extremely awkward and unbearable. After a long drawn out sigh from him he continued, “I apologize too, for my behaviour and with how I had treated you. I had felt a little guilty after that cup of coffee… and thanks for keeping my card safe, I hadn’t realized I’d lost it,” he reached his right arm out, “so truce? I wouldn’t like this animosity between us. You seem like a nice person when you’re not so… when somebody isn’t doing your head in.”

 

 

 

 

“Yes, apology accepted,” Clara looked at her watch as a cue to leave and shook his hand hastily, “I have to go, goodbye, _Doctor_ or whatever your first name is.”

 

 

 

Then Clara left him, walking speedily and taking the first corner just to get out from his sight. Taking this time to walk to the bus stop, she went over how crazy the day has been. She sat on the next available seat beneath the bus shelter and waited. After a couple of minutes she’d found out that the bus would be coming late, so she took her recently purchased book out, bowed her head down and began to read silently waiting time to roll on by.

 

 

 

 

After reading a page or two, Clara felt an oncoming storm. She half acknowledges this a she returned to her book as she saw a lightning strike and then thunder rumbling overhead. Soon after, the hiss of rain could be heard where at first pattered the pavement and then it gushed. It was winter and there was downpour. Clara expected this. It never seems to snow anymore, probably due to climate change and whatnot. It didn’t help with her festive, Christmas spirit to which she had, none.

 

 

 

 

_I find myself listening to comments such as “why don’t you just stop?” and “you can stop whenever you want to, but you just don’t want to.”_

_Truth to be told…it’s not even just listening to those comments, but believing them and eventually making myself feel more guilty and miserable and partaking of my alcohol nightmare even more than the day before just to quash the guilt._

_I thought it was what all 40 somethings were doing. I never saw my drinking as a problem and in fact, at that time, it wasn’t, but it would lay down the bricks for the remaining stretch of road ahead in my life-- **!**_

 

 

 

 

Her heart leaps from her chest as she felt sudden apprehension, the noise of a car horn blasted into her ears. Thinking it was just the afternoon rush hour, she lifted her head to see a car parked by the bus stop and the Doctor waving at her from his car. Clara waved back and politely smiled back and then he sped down the street before she entered the bus that had arrived soon afterwards.  She would continue reading at home.

 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 

 

 

 

The next day, she was at work once again in her afternoon shift. She was running the till making hot drinks, _serving_ hot drinks- the usual afternoon. The only thing Clara was looking forwards to continue on reading her book and perhaps some catching up during her break.

 

 

 

3 hours later and it was 4:30 pm in the afternoon, this meant 30 minutes of break, if she was lucky. It was as good time to relax, have time to her own self, to finish her current chapter. She went to find a seat in the café and did exactly that.

 

 

 

_I believed that I had been happily married, had a successful career- it was when my wife left me for another man, it had really struck me hard. It had fuelled my ‘habit’. Life had been terribly uneventful and mundane- I had went to school then to university, got my degree and did my career. I thought that by my age that life wouldn’t mean much to me anymore. I’ve done everything that’s required from me, I’ve grown, I’ve learnt, I’ve provided. What else is there left for me?_

 

 

 

 

“ _You’re a sight for sore eyes_ , hello Clara,” a voice interrupted her thoughts, “engrossed?” She put the book down and saw the Doctor once again, with a mug of coffee this time. Clara saw that he had sat on her table, on the seat across her with a pen and paper out.

 

 

 

 

“Yeah, I guess I was.” She answered shrewdly, eliciting a small chuckle from him.

 

 

 

 

“What do you like about it?” He inquired, Clara was sure to answer. She loved to discuss books but she seems to be in her own world at times. She thought she had a passion for literature and reading and of course she did. What would all those times wasted on studying English be all for. Maybe she just hadn’t had the chance to talk to another human being about related topics for a while and this could be her chance to put herself out there.

 

 

 

 

“I could even go as far to say that I love it, it’s a **memoir** … every time I read on, I learn something new from the author in each flick of a page, and it’s something personal you feel as if you’re part of their lives.” she told him passionately, Clara blushed as she realized how much of a geek she had sounded, “and I-uh… it’s nice to read about someone’s troubles in life, I mean… it’s bad- for them… but yeah, it’s good to know that you aren’t alone.”

 

 

 

 

“You’re an alcoholic, too?” The Doctor asked her almost too nonchalantly, he gave a vibe of calmness and authority, Clara had felt- by the way he’s talking and questioning her right now.

 

 

 

 

“Wha-what? No, no, no I’m not,” Clara held her hands out in protest, “no, not me… I don’t drink, much. It’s you know… depression and stress gets to me, sometimes I drink myself to sleep or I read myself to sleep. It takes things away from the mind.”

 

 

 

 

“Oh.” He had managed to utter back, “I’m sorry to hear that what you’re going through.”

 

 

 

 

Clara sensed the silence creep in and to prevent another awkward encounter, she thought to ask him a few questions since she’s told too much about herself already.

 

 

 

 

“So uh Doctor,” she initiated, “have you read the book yourself? I’m assuming you have. Did _you_ like it?” Clara asked hesitantly.

 

 

 

 

The Doctor answered after a few sips of his coffee, it had looked like he had been thinking long and hard about it as he took a few seconds to construct an answer carefully, “I liked how the author… what’s his name again? Another John Smith was it?”

 

 

 

 

“Yeah, it was another Smith, it’s a generic name, no offense to you too but I think delivers well.”

 

 

 

 

“What does?”

 

 

 

 

“I’m no literary scholar and I’m not good with analysis,” Clara laughed nervously, “but you know how there’s millions and millions of Smiths and it’s a common name… as though he represents our society. Meaning it’s likely another John Smith _or_ an _Eva_ Smith is suffering with alcoholism, depression, etcetera… It’s as if Mr. Smith is speaking out on behalf of everyone else.”

 

 

 

 

Clara then placed her hands on her mug and drank her tea. She saw him nod to her slowly and wrote something down on the notepad of his, scribbling something on the paper which Clara couldn’t read from where she was. It was quite queer she’d thought.

 

 

 

 

“Wait why are you writing? Don’t tell me you’re writing all this down. Are you actually a Doctor a psychologist or maybe a journalist?”

 

 

 

 

“No, I’m just jotting notes- ideas for personal use,” he replied as a matter of fact, “do you mind _me_ doing this?”

 

 

 

 

“I guess… it’s fine but yes, sorry, continue on.” She was supposed to be the one asking the questions not the other way around.

 

 

 

 

“Alright then,” he took another sip of his coffee, “yes, well actually I didn’t _like_ it, quite rather, I’d absolutely hated it.”

 

 

 

 

“Y-you did?” Clara was shocked by the turn of events, “from your disposition and uncanny interest of the book, I thought that you really liked it. You’d even said that it was good.”

 

 

 

 

“The book _is_ good. I hate it because it’s too good.”

 

 

 

 

“What you just said there, it’s hypocrisy.” Clara mentioned.  


 

 

 

“There’s a narrow boundary between love and hate, besides I have reasons to why my view differs from yours,” The Doctor explained,  “I can see why many would think and say that it’s a good book.”

 

 

 

 

“ _Well,_ tell me then Doctor. What views differed from mine?” Clara asked in sudden interest.

 

 

 

 

“That would be a spoiler, I’m afraid.” He argued. Clara sunk into the chair disappointed, she wanted to know right now but for her to do that, she would need to read on.

 

 

 

 

“Fine, I’ll finish the chapter I’m on tonight… and maybe another few. Why don’t you tell me a little more about yourself? What’s your job? I can’t seem infer what you could be, you look like a wild card with that outfit of yours. Are you a… magician perchance?” Clara asked jokingly, she was still curious anyhow.

 

 

 

 

“Ah, no I’m not a magician rather, I’m a jack-of-all-trades almost, master of a few things. I was an astrophysicist many years ago and musician and artist here and there.”

 

 

 

 

“Wow… show-off.” Clara remarked, half envious and half astonished.

 

 

 

 

“Hey, it isn’t my fault I’ve lived a little longer than you have.”

 

 

 

 

“A **_little_** _?_ ” She emphasized, mockingly.

 

 

 

 

“Don’t rub it in. Besides, you have your whole life ahead of you.”

 

 

 

“What,” she moved across the table to get closer to him, “in this dump? Earning minimum wage will get me nowhere.” She whispered to him, careful to not be caught by her employer and colleague, who were talking to a customer across the room.

 

 

 

 

“You could go elsewhere, somewhere that offers a higher wage possibly. Also, what of your studies did you go to university?”

 

 

 

 

“I did go to university… okay I may have told a mistruth about me,” She disclosed, “I might actually be a literary scholar all along.”

 

 

 

 

“Oh my… what a revelation!” The Doctor replied mockingly, like Clara had done before.

 

 

 

 

“Yes, I majored in English literature and language… I’d even taught once, in a secondary school. It didn’t go out so well, I quit 9 months ago.”

 

 

 

 

“What happened?” It was obvious to the Doctor that he’s hit a sensitive topic as she sat back down onto her seat, her face turned somber. He was careful not to force her into telling him something that she wasn’t comfortable with.

 

 

 

 

“It’s stupid really. Life’s like that sometimes you know?” Now he felt like he seeing a part of Clara probably no one had never witnessed before. She was all tears now and all he could do was to be quiet and listen to whatever she has to say, “You know what? I’ll tell you, Doctor, I don’t know why I’m telling **_you_** \- a complete stranger but I can’t run away from it forever and maybe this is going to make me feel better somehow.”

 

 

 

\-----------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

“…It was a fight at the school, two of my older male students had a go at another male student of mine and as a teacher it’s my duty to ensure their safety and so intervened. Things went downhill after. I came out injured, punched in the head and the kidneys. The pain was unbearable. I pressed charges and nothing justifying came out of it, I returned to school and as ridiculous as it seems, I got bullied, I received threats from the same students who’d returned a week later from suspension but what really did it for me was Daniel.”

 

 

 

 

“Daniel… _a student_?” The Doctor asked, careful as if not to sound too prying.

                              

 

 

 

“No…” she took the napkin that the Doctor had offered and wiped her tears, “he was a teacher also, my boyfriend. He died in an accident on the way to school. After that, I thought it was a good time to take my leave. That place was a curse. I never want to see it again and I never thought to continue teaching or to pursue a different career after that. Don’t feel motivated enough: don’t have any close friends, my dad’s always away and my boyfriend’s dead… that’s when depression went knocking up my door. I let it in. So yeah maybe later on I’ll find something worthwhile in life… get married, have kids do what normal people do in life… when I’m ready that is… and so that’s that,” Clara then stood up and excused herself, “Sorry I got to go to the bathroom before I start my shift again. I’ll see you again later, okay?” He nodded back in acknowledgment.

 

 

 

 

Clara then promptly left for the bathroom. She didn’t know why she said that she would see the Doctor again later. She’s wasted enough of his time already, assuming that he was a busy man. Not a minute soon after, she returned to her post behind the counter and till, looking refreshed and not as if she’d been crying. She was still a bit shaky but she felt a lot better having things off your chest and unburdening yourself.

 

 

 

 

As she continued work she couldn’t help but stare at the Doctor who was still sat down writing on his notepad. Perhaps, he isn’t busy at all today, maybe he’s actually retired or it could be that it’s his day off. Another half an hour had passed and he was still there, still writing, which really got Clara curious- whatever was on that notepad was obviously important to him. She could ask him about it later on- whenever that was.

 

 

 

 

A further quarter of an hour this time and he stood up from his seat. Clara thought that he was going to leave but before Clara could wave goodbye he headed straight for towards her.

 

 

 

 

“Doctor, don’t you have to be somewhere?” Clara inquired. She looked at the clock behind her and saw that it was quarter past 5 and it was already fully dark outside.

 

 

 

 

“Eager to get rid of me, are you?” He leaned onto the counter placing both his arms on the surface, “A cup of coffee just for me please.”

 

 

 

 

“Please?” Clara scoffed, “Wow, I do see an improvement already. Have you eaten anything today?”

 

 

 

 

“No not really, a couple of biscuits this morning. I’ll eat later or whenever I have time.”

 

 

 

 

“Just biscuits?” Clara tutted and shook her head. When she returned she came back with his piping hot coffee plus a sandwich, “Here’s your 2 pounds back.”

 

 

 

 

“What’s this?” The Doctor inspected the label on the sandwich, it was a BLT sandwich, “Clara I can’t accept this. Let me pay for it.”

 

 

 

 

“Nope, no can do- I’ve already bought it for you so I better see you on that seat,” she pointed, “eating my BLT sandwich and drinking that coffee- which I both made with my own bare hands,” Clara reasoned and folded her arms, insisting that he’d take it.

 

 

 

 

“Yes boss.”

 

 

 

 

“Hello sir, is there are problem with your purchase?” Clara found her shift supervisor appear beside her.

 

 

 

 

“No nothing at all,” The man affirmed, “in fact I’m impressed with the service around here. The employees are very friendly- lovely atmosphere.”

 

 

 

 

“Alright, we’re glad to hear it. It’s just yesterday, I saw you arguing with one of our employees we just wanted to know if everything’s fine.”

 

 

 

 

“No… no everything’s fine, it was I to blame.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Then is there anything else we could help you with?”

 

 

 

 

“No nothing at all.” Clara’s supervisor gave their trademark smile and a nod before disappearing into the staffroom. Clara gave her own smile before returning to work as she saw the time nearing rush hour which meant extra people and extra work. She was also glad to see the Doctor return to his writing and he was eating her food too.

 

 

 

 

The time was now 7:30 pm in the evening and it was the end of Clara’s shift. Yes, the Doctor was still there, sat on his seat however he had stopped writing and was staring out of the window instead, watching the cars and buses past by and the downpour of rain. Clara had put her jacket on and was ready to go. She didn’t know why she felt like she was going to go with the Doctor but she had the feeling that he was expecting her to come with him.

 

 

 

 

“Ready to go?” He stood up as she approached him, Clara nodded. She didn’t know why she had done so. They walked towards the exit and as if the Doctor was actually a magician, procured an umbrella out of nowhere and opened it for Clara. Then closing the door behind him he shared the canopy with her.

 

 

 

 

He started walking left, up the pavement then no less than 20 steps later they arrived by his car. It was generic looking, nothing special. It could have maybe give Clara an idea what his colour preference is unless it’s black. It probably was the colour black, he was dressed in it. He opened the front, left door and allowed Clara to get in. He soon followed her in, placing his umbrella behind the driver’s seat. Once they were both sat down he turned on the ignition.

 

 

 

 

“Is this a kidnapping? Where are we actually going?” Clara mentioned. She trusted the Doctor but she didn’t know why her mind was thinking irrationally though.

 

 

 

 

“Well Clara, I’m sorry to say no to that question. No, this isn’t a kidnapping as you had just willingly entered my car without protest,” the Doctor reasoned, “Also, if you ever feel that you’re in that situation you wouldn’t have just done what you just did.”

 

 

 

 

“What? Having a stranger lead you into their car?” Clara supposed.

 

 

 

 

“ _Ah…_ you meant to say the _TARDIS_ but yes… it means that you trust me enough that I’m a friend and not a stranger at all.”

 

 

 

 

“Hah… _friend,_ ” Clara scoffed.

 

 

 

 

“You don’t have to be so disappointed about it, I know I’m not what you’re expecting,” the Doctor remarked sulkily, his expression sobered, “Yes, we’re friends and I’m taking you home. So where do you live?”

 

 

 

 

“I-uhm do you know Latymer Court, the bus stop?”

 

 

 

 

“Indeed.” He inclined his head.

 

 

 

 

“My flat’s just across the road. You can drop me off there.”

 

 

 

 

Putting their seatbelts on the Doctor released the handbrake, changed gears and drove through the main road. They were making great progress until they reached the road intersection. They couldn’t say they weren’t surprised by the traffic but at least it was better than being out in the rain and cold waiting for the bus to arrive. It was warm inside the Doctor’s car after putting the heating on, Clara was glad that she was away from the chilly winter wind.

 

 

 

 

“So, you never really did tell me why you were so rude in our first encounters,” staring at the traffic in front, she propped her chin on her hand, “sure you were in a bad temper but why had it happened? You really bring out that lilt of yours when you’re angry. I’ve noticed.”

 

 

 

 

“Oh that debacle?” The Doctor stretched his ridiculously long arms and yawned tiredly before relapsing back comfortably on his seat, “If you really want to know… well, it was work related- I was told through the phone that I’ve been doing poorly- performance wise, with my work. Also, that call was to tell me that my recently published work was rejected and to add to that, I haven’t been receiving a steady source of income for the last 5 months. So yes that was why I had been in quite a temperament.”

 

 

 

 

Clara nodded in acknowledgement, so he wasn’t that much of a massive sod from what she’s heard and seen. Then it turned quiet for a while but Clara was eager to keep the conversation going.

 

 

 

 

“Doctor?” She’d asked.

 

 

 

 

“Hmm?”

 

 

 

 

“I don’t **_really_** know enough about you, I’ve just met you yesterday.” She brought up. Pinning him with her eyes, he avoided her gaze. Clara saw that she would be home in a couple of minutes or so if the Doctor kept up with this speed.

 

 

 

 

 

“In fact, all I know about is what you’re good at, oh and that you hate the book I’m currently reading… so maybe you could tell me a little more about yourself? Like… I don’t know- favourite TV show, _what your actual job is…_ ”

 

 

 

 

 

“Maybe that’s all you need to know about me.” The Doctor muttered, casting a veiled glance at her.

 

 

 

 

“What are you talking about? That’s hardly fair,” Clara leaned closer to him, wonderingly she stares, “you know, I don’t understand about you.”

 

 

 

 

Doctor answered back calmly, “There’s no reason why you should… Look Clara…” he procures a card from inside that red lined, jacket of his and held it out for her. She looks at it and saw a series of number, the Doctor just gave her his number.

 

 

 

 

“This is your…”

 

 

 

 

“It’s my number. If you want to know more about me I suggest that we about it over dinner- _at my place. Whenever you’re off._ ” he gave her another of his lopsided grin. Clara felt like she had just been flirted with.

 

 

 

 

“We’re here.” the Doctor finally announced as they halted, parked beside the road and just in front of the bus stop.

 

 

 

 

“You maverick…” She commented looking at the paper once more over before pocketing it, “Is this a date?”

 

 

 

 

“ _Clara…_ this _face_ isn’t a date.” He looked at her gravely.

Clara gazed back at him objectively. His lips slightly upturned and his forehead had deep creases that pulled his eyebrows down, as if he were glaring. She had never seen his eyes this close before, they were stormy blue-greys that went on to tell her that he was someone who had held up a hard life with conflicts and losses- someone with hidden secrets to take to their grave or to be eventually unravelled.

 

 

 

 

“…I don’t mind.” She told him reservedly, the corner of her mouth quirked up. He lifted an eyebrow and his mouth set in a hard line unsure of what to say to such… _news._

 

 

 

 

“It’s whatever you want it to be… we’re here. Take my umbrella.”

 

 

 

 

“But I’ve got one at home.” Clara fussed as she exited the car, closing the door behind her.

 

 

 

 

“Well there’s no use for it being at home, here take it,” he offered her his umbrella through the now opened window. ”I’ll see you around…”

 

 

 

 

“Yeah… see you, maybe dinner on Thursday?” She asked him, wrapping her arms around herself.

 

 

 

 

“Thursday it is then. Goodnight Clara-” he paused realizing that he still hadn’t known her surname.

 

 

 

 

“It’s Oswald.” She’d disclosed.

 

 

 

 

“Take it easy, Clara Oswald.”

 

 

 

 

“Bye, Doctor.” She waved him goodbye as he closed his windows. Acknowledging this he raises his eyebrows for a split second and then drops them back. Clara nods back smiling as he sees him drive off once again.

 

 

 

 

Clara made her own way home afterwards. Taking her keys out she unlocked the front door and entered the building. Entering the lift she closes her umbrella and pressed the button to go to the 3rd floor.

 

 

 

 

Once she taking a quick bath and dinner she had practically climbed into bed after brushing her teeth. Reaching for her bag she takes her book out and pulled her duvet up. Before forgetting altogether, she grabbed the delicate piece of paper from her bedside table and read those numbers through again before adding it into her contacts.

 

__________

 

 

 

_Hiya, it’s Clara if you remember._

_20:26_

She quickly typed in and pressed send. She would continue reading until he’d text back. Opening the book she quickly finds the chapter she had barely started reading thanks to the Doctor’s sudden visit. Clara didn’t mind really, it was nice to have company after all these months spent isolated just _reading_. Also, she’d made a friend today. An actual friend, it was crazy really but fortunately instead of being mortal enemies from their first encounters they were quick to forgive and forget. It was nice. Clara was fine with just the amount of enemies she currently had but she still preferred for that number to be none.

 

 

 

 

_Alcoholism is lonely. Even when you are surrounded by people, you don't feel the connection. Even you’re colleagues start noticing the mask you are holding up to the world it isn’t the real you, not the worm inside that is your core self. And I drank even harder to get rid of that realization._

_Being an alcoholic is tedious and fearful. I lived in fear of being found out and I had to plan every activity to make sure that there was access to alcohol. I'd show up at parties and drop a bottle of wine on the table. Then I'd head to the bathroom and stash a bottle of scotch inside the toilet tank so that I didn't have to worry about running out of booze. And people wouldn't know just how much I was drinking._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two paragraphs are from Karen Opas, I got it on Quora. I am not an alcoholic therefore I staying true to her words. If you're interested then you can go to https://www.quora.com/What-is-it-like-to-be-an-alcoholic
> 
> These 'entries' will only last for another 2 - 3 chapters, I won't actually be writing a memoir on alcoholism. In story these entries are a snapshot into what Clara's currently reading and progression through the (fictional- there isn't actually a memoir on alcoholism by John Smith that I know of) book she's reading, which is also key to the plot.
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are appreciated! :) <3


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

It wasn’t until morning that Clara realized that the Doctor had texted back, after hitting snooze on her alarm. She entered here password and examined her messages, she saw one from her Dad 3 days ago, one from work and another and that was about it, apart from the Doctor’s. She saw that he’d sent 3 messages.

____________

_Hello Clara, Yes I do remember you. And just to remind you, I’m not suffering from any forms of dementia. So Thursday is still good?_

_9:47_

______________

_Driving up home to Glasgow right now, won’t see you again until then._

_10:15_

______________

_Ignoring me then? Alright, I bet you have that nose of yours buried in that book or you’re probably asleep, if that’s the case then Goodnight._

_11:02_

Clara smiled upon reading the series of text. It had led her to feeling half annoyed for actually ignoring the Doctor, by unintentionally leaving her phone on silent. He could have used some company along the way to Scotland. One thing that suddenly crossed her mind was the Doctor living so far north. He was living there currently right?

It meant that he has another house in London, since he had asked her out for dinner at his place - unless he plans on her going on a trip **_to_** Scotland.  It was another thing to ask him about like why he was in London. Maybe she should start making a list. She could text him about it but she felt like that would be too prying of her.

___________

 

 

 

_I’m so sorry Doctor, for not texting back any sooner. Left my phone on silent and yes I did have my nose buried. I’m not good at this friend thing am I?_

_Also, I’ve been meaning to ask about Thursday- is it at your place, in London?_

_6:04_

It was at breakfast when Clara received a reply.

______________

 

 

 

_Yes. See you then._

_6:22_

Clara waited for the week to roll on by to Thursday. She was greatly anticipating the dinner with her _friend._ She hadn’t seen him since Sunday night and she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t turn up after work. Clara would be disappointed but it’s expected, he hadn’t texted back with any of her texts.

 

 

 

 _He’s probably busy…_ or something terrible might have happened to him,  _wait, when did she start to care?_

 

 

 

 

Time couldn’t go by any faster for her as the countdown began in deciding whether she was of any importance to another person. During her lunch break she continued reading eager to finish the whole book, so that she could find out why the Doctor hated it.

 

 

 

 

_When I went to quit drinking, I realized that alcohol had taken to my body in such a way that I couldn’t stop. I would shake like I was going to break, I would start to sweat, I could not think until I had another drink. I could not function without it._

_But I had to quit, my mind kept telling me- but for whose sake? Mine? I didn’t care then. I’ve lost all that I have loved and I never saw myself as a person to be loved. Not anymore. Not with what I had become. Work was stressful- same old story. I couldn’t function properly with my job as an author for children’s book it’s hard to think positively. You begin to think darkly, of death, how to die. It’s hardly an appropriate topic to write a children’s story on._

_Fortunately, I had changed for the better. It wasn’t easy it was like climbing out of the hell you’d created. It was only difficult because I’d made it that way for me and by absolute chance I had managed to have found love again and I was saved from my death. Someone had given me life and I can’t do anything about that fact. I had to quit and continue living so that I can give life to someone else. I wanted to prove it to someone at least once in my lifetime- that I am alive and that I am stronger and braver than ever before…_

_For once, I felt proud of myself from the times I’ve woken up every morning- I’m still here. It feels great being on the other side. I could recall the memories where I had felt lost and hungover. I often wonder what I could be doing if I still were in the same condition as I was before. I would still be dead…_

 

 

 

Nearing the end of her shift, Clara took her phone out to see that there still had been no reply back. If there was a dinner then it would be of great convenience if he could have told her at what time and his address. She let out a huff and stuffed her phone into her apron. She would worry about it later on.

 

 

___________

 

 

_I’ve almost forgotten, what time should I be there? Also, I need your address to get there. Please reply back. Thanks._

_Tue 8/12_

 

Clara examined his contact details and deciding on whether to call him or text him once again. She thought that it would be futile, it’s plausible that he might had lost his phone or it could be that Clara was expecting too much from this one person she’d only encountered twice.

 

 

 

 

Even so, she waited half an hour or so after her work, just in case. There had been no Doctor. As she became impatient she called him and was sent through the voicemail instead.

 

 

 

 

Frustrated, at him and her especially from expecting too much from people she quickly left the café heading towards the usual bus shelter to take her home where she could just curl up in bed and just sleep it off and maybe a few drinks with her would be nice too.

 

 

 

 

Walking hurriedly, she saw her bus coming on the main road. Thinking that she would catch it, she ran as fast as her feet could carry her and turning left at the end of the street.

 

 

 

 

In the flash of the moment, everything went toppling down for Clara as she went on a crash collision with a person who had also been running but towards her direction instead.

 

 

 

 

Having lost all her sense balance she fell onto her sides, after apologizing and not a second wasted- mostly due to the embarrassment- she got up and raced for the bus, determined to get on that ride. However, she only ran for other 4 or 5 steps before seeing that the bus had continued on as nobody had been waiting on the bus stop or was getting off.

 

 

 

 

She let out a grunt in displeasure. It was always a race with these buses, **_every day._**

 

 

 

 

“Clara?” Hearing a familiar voice from behind her she felt a hand placed on her shoulder and turned around to see a man in a hooded figure. She knew exactly who it was.

 

 

 

 

“You gave me a fright…” he said laboriously, “it’s good that I’ve found you. Sorry for running late. Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and led her away to his car, up towards the main road.

 

 

 

 

“Stop,” Clara commanded before stepping any closer to the hooded figure, “let me take a look at you.”

 

 

 

 

Turning around he’d raised an eyebrow at her at the sudden request. So they stopped and he’d let her take look.

 

 

 

 

“You know… you can’t just do that-” she looked up at him squarely and poked at his chest, “just whisking me into your _TARDIS._ ”

 

 

 

 

“We’re still going to have dinner right?” he asked her tentatively.

 

 

 

 

“I don’t know… are we? You didn’t text me back after Monday morning. I didn’t know that you were going to pick me up. How was I supposed to know?” Clara looked at him angrily, her jaw clenched and arms folded but she didn’t keep this disposition for long as she relaxed and hugged him, a smile formed on her face. Slowly she loosened her embrace and saw that the Doctor had tensed up.

 

 

 

 

“You don’t like hugs?” Clara inquired. He nodded back at her and she took it as a no, “Sokay, I get it…”

 

 

 

 

“No Clara… it’s not like that-” He attempted to correct her.

 

 

 

 

“ _No,_ it’s fine really. It’s nice to see you again _Doctor._ ” She shook his hands instead which was far too formal for his liking. He shook it back evenly, nonetheless, “Nice hoodie, by the way. You looked rather inconspicuous. I didn’t recognize you for a second in the dark.”

 

 

 

 

“Well you look- _nice._ ” He muttered back, pointing at her overall attire before leading her away again, allowing no time for Clara to react at all.

 

 

 

 

Then it was a silent 20 minute drive to his home. Clara saw a line of nicely painted and red brick housing within the more residential area of London.

 

 

 

 

She exited the car, closing the door behind her. As she inspected the area she was called by the Doctor who indicated her to cross the road to where she assumed his house would be.

 

 

 

 

At the door whilst he was searching for the door keys, she saw his door number which was nicely rounded and wasn’t hard to forget so there was no need to write the address down, “ _12 Gallifrey Street, better remember that then.”_ Clara whispered amongst herself and then heard the clunk of the front door unlock.

 

 

 

 

“Why do you need my address?” the Doctor couldn’t help speculate as he opened the door for his guest, “Do you plan on returning?”

 

 

 

 

“ _Yes…”_ Clara affirmed, slightly turning her head away as she entered his home as heat crept up her cheeks, “don’t _friends_ do that? I mean it’s nothing out of the norm now, is it?”

 

 

 

“No… _?_ ” he chimed in, his right eyebrow shot up and Clara could see the corners his mouth quirk up. There was the sound of a bang, then darkness and the last thing he saw was terror that flashed in her eyes.

 

 

 

 

“What was that?” Clara let out a squeak. She could barely make out her surrounding area in the blackout, “I get it… this is when you seize the moment and knock me out right on this spot. _Isn’t it?_ ” There was a moment of stillness and silence which unsettled her. Then as she felt a hand crept up to her arm, she swore her heart rate kicked into overdrive.

 

 

 

 

“Sorry Clara, you’re just stood behind the door where the fuse box is. I’ve turned off the electrics every time I go away,” he told her and she moved out of his way, narrowly missing a ceramic plant pot right beside her and with each click of the switch she only saw a room illuminate which was the living room, “could you… wait in there for now? I’ll be with you in a sec.” He showed her in and immediately dashed out of the room leaving Clara half-confused as she was left to her own devices.

 

 

 

 

She saw that the living area was very spacious and the window was grand enough so that he could see the whole of the front yard from just where she was sitting. In fact the seat itself was incredibly comfortable and antique- even older than its owner perhaps and it looked of great value. The walls were painting plain white, there was the solid oak floor that looked dull in the moonlight and a fireplace that stood opposite her where relatively large television was placed just above it.

 

 

 

 

There was also the resounding noise of glass shattering which was quite a worry. Clara thought to dismiss it thinking that it was the Doctor doing some last minute dishes in the kitchen nearby but she was quick to have second thoughts as soon as soon as she heard profanities.

 

 

 

 

Clara had been tempted to check out on the Doctor after everything had gone silent and left the living room to go inspect the kitchen, assuming it was where he’d headed off to earlier.

 

 

 

 

The door was closed which she thought to have been quite queer and as soon as she rapped on the wooden surface she was quickly answered by the Doctor who’d left the room to face her by the door.

 

 

 

 

“Don’t go in, there’s been an accident. Plate slipped out my hand and somehow there’s glass and ceramic _everywhere_. I’m really sorry about this.”

 

 

 

 

“I can help around, I don’t mind…” She offered as she reached for the door knob but she had been too slow to have gotten there first but was fast enough to see the relatively large gash on the palm of his right hand.

 

 

 

 

“Thanks… **_but_** ,” he grimaced in pain, _“_ since you are _my_ guest I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to do that.”

 

 

 

 

“You’re hand…” she pointed at the now slightly bloodied door-knob.

 

 

 

 

“A _ch,_ that’s disgusting isn’t it?” He told her coolly as he examined his wound, “Well it’s there to keep you away from the kitchen. _Now…_ **scat!** ” he held it up at her and Clara reacted, quite repulsed as she jerked her head away.

 

 

 

 

“ _You’re disgusting…_ ” he held his palms closer and Clara leaned ever more further away, _“_ o-okay, _okay_ I’ll go… you better not put your DNA in any of my food.”

 

 

 

 

“Ah… about that… do you mind take away?” He stopped with his antics and asked her with an endearing smile.

 

 

 

 

“No, not at all…?” Clara replied.

 

 

 

 

“Good, what do you feel about Chinese? I’m quite disappointing aren’t I? I can’t even cook.”

 

 

 

 

“It sounds good to me- _Chinese take away,_ ” she insisted, “what should I do at the meantime?”

 

 

 

 

“Nothing really but…”disappearing behind the door he appeared back in front of her with a Chinese takeaway menu to give to her, “you can start with this. I don’t mind what you get me.”

 

 

 

 

“Oh alright then…” He cocked his head at her and disappeared behind the door once again.

 

 

 

@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@

 

 

Dinner was relatively quiet, they initiated a few small talks here and there but it wasn’t until after they’ve eaten had they hit a more interesting topic to converse about.

 

 

 

 

Clara was about to stand up to do her dishes after finishing but the Doctor insisted for her to leave it. He would do it later on once she’d left and instead introduced her to a new room. Clara could see that it was his study since it was particularly messy, disorganised with clutter all over. The most striking part of the room had been his desk. There were at least a dozen empty bottles of empty alcohol lying around and several piles of paper, threatening to fall.

 

 

 

 

“So uh… this is _work?_ ” She asked him based on assumption.

 

 

 

 

“Yes, take a seat if you like.” He gestured at the couch placed opposite where his desk was, besides the windows where there was a full moon on the horizon. Clara nodded her head at the suggestion but followed him to his desk instead where he was sat on his swivel chair setting the bottles gently on the ground.

 

 

 

 

“What do you do in here?” Clara looked down to see his works scattered all over the desks and before she could lean any closer to even begin to read what he’d written she was stopped by the Doctor who swivelled around to face her, using his torso and arms to block her view. Her eyes bored into him.

 

 

 

 

She raised a brow and after skirting around just to see what was so important on the desk and being skilfully blocked by the Doctor, she gave up after a thought had struck her.

 

 

 

 

“MI5? _A Secret Diplomat?_ ” He squeezed his eyes shut forming a lowered steeple with his hands, a grin slowly forming on his lips.

 

 

 

 

“No… neither,” he shook his head, opening his eyes to look at her, “Have you finished that book of yours? I’d love to talk about it…”

 

 

 

 

“Oh… yes actually I have,” she responded, not expecting to have moved to this topic of conversation, “I think it was good, it’s good to hear that he’s found someone to help him out of his hell. It isn’t like everybody is as lucky as him. I’m happy for him. I wonder how life has been treating him since.”

 

 

 

 

“You could ask him?” She inclined her head at the sudden idea, “there’s a book signing at that same shop on the high street.”

 

 

 

 

“ _Really-_ when is it?” He shrugged casually turning around to his desk on his seat, “I think maybe on Monday. Around 4 until 6 in the afternoon.”

 

 

 

 

“Thanks for the suggestion, my schedule’s a bit tight though, I finish at exactly 6 so I don’t if I’ll get to see him.” Clara looked outside the window at the thought. She wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity like that, although he wasn’t treated exactly as a celebrity, Clara had admired the man enough that she’d developed an unhealthy obsession with him through his works.

 

 

 

 

“I’m sure you will…” he answered soft spoken, his back still facing her as he fiddled around with his ball point pen.

 

 

 

 

“How about you? I know you didn’t like it but your very keen on the author, I feel, for some reason.” He replied with a hum and opened a drawer to retrieve a copy of the book, joining Clara on the couch. He opened it show her that the front page had already been signed, “Met the guy, didn’t speak much to him.”

 

 

 

 

“Is it yours? Why is it addressed to someone else?” Clara pointed out at the discrepancy, “For your… _wife?_ I never thought to ask, Doctor… you’re married right?” The Doctor sighed then his mouth set in a hard line, a muscle in his jaw twitched.

 

 

 

 

“Don’t spend a single second worrying about that, I wouldn’t exactly bring you out for a date if I were,” Clara’s lips parted before looking away after realizing that she had been gawking at him.

 

 

 

 

“ _This is a date?_ What happened to this face is not a date thing?” She found herself saying as if taken by surprise and remained silent after he had jumped to his feet, returning to his desk. He had looked rather somber as memories resurfaced once again to torment him but he resisted, grew bitter then dropped the thought altogether.

 

 

 

 

Before the atmosphere turned grave, Clara thought it was best _not_ to pursue this topic after questions began to crop up- none that she felt comfortable talking about at all.

 

 

 

 

“Ah-uhm… since I’ve finished the book… remember saying that you would tell me why you had hated it…?” She recalled and slipped him a curious glance, he was scribbling furiously.

 

 

 

 

“Oh right, that… it’s quite personal” he paused his pen, “I know it was to be expected since it was a memoir on his recovery from alcoholism but I’m a selfish man. This might sound childish and stupid but… I envy him.”

 

 

 

 

“You wish to be like him?” Clara stated.

 

 

 

 

“What…?” His eyes darted to hers.

 

 

 

 

“I know how it feels, I’ve been down a similar road. I guess were both quite the narcissist.”

 

 

 

 

“ _Hmph_ … Although there is something else I should say about this…” he muttered, “ _I guess it wouldn’t_ \- Nevermind…” The Doctor shook his head as he raked his fingers through his hair.

 

 

 

 

“W-what is it?” Clara inquired.

 

 

 

 

“Nothing and you don’t envy him do you?” The Doctor returned.

 

 

 

 

“I suppose… I do envy him a little but I’m trying to be happy for him. It’s difficult- When you’re in my situation.” He inclined his head in acknowledgement, amongst the silence he watched her fidget with her bracelet he hadn’t noticed she’d been wearing.

 

 

 

 

The Doctor looked at the clock above her and saw the time. It was nearing 10 pm and thought it was apt to have her sent back home. It was quite late according to him and although it was just Clara, he found it unnerving to find someone who can so easily _look through him_.

 

 

 

 

“Ah it’s quite late isn’t it?” he instigated nodding at the clock.

 

 

 

 

“I guess so,” she looked behind her to also get a sense of how late it was at night, “I’ll go then, I have a bus to catch. See you again soon, if you want to see me again.”

 

 

 

 

“Of course, I’d love to see you again soon _Clara Oswald_. I’ll drive you home instead, is that alright?” She nodded and stood up from her seat and approached him, her right arm outstretched. The Doctor looked down to see that he was being offered a handshake and shook it, finding it more awkward than a hug.

 

 

 

 

“Thanks for the company Doctor.” It made him feel like they were business partners instead of _friends_. He didn’t like it one bit.

 

 

 

“Likewise.”

 

 

 

 

“ _Really_ ,” she begun quite hesitant on her part, “I- I don’t know what it is and I know we’ve only seen each other on less than 2 occasions but… I feel like we’ve been friends since… ever.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'entry' was based off on : http://www.drugfreeworld.org/real-life-stories/alcohol.html
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are as always appreciated! :) <3  
> -Chirhoiota


	4. Chapter 4

Tapping her feet impatiently Clara looked back at the clock for about the 20th time in the past 5 minutes as it neared to 10 past 6 in the evening. She was eager to get out of work and since the bookshop was only across the road and few blocks away. Clara grew even more disgruntled by the second as she was kept in for overtime because of some customers who thought it was a good idea to enter the café when it was nearly closing time. She felt her phone vibrate inside her apron with the minutes she was wasting in this place she spent the little time looking through her messages, it was from the Doctor.

 

 

 

____________

_Have you gone to the book signing yet? What did you think of him/impressions?_

_6:08_

 

Clara replied, a little unhappy with her situation.

 

 

 

____________

_No, I haven’t even left work yet! I’ve been kept in for overtime due to some inconsiderate customers. Do you think I’ll make it?_

_ Message sent _

 

 

 

____________

_I wouldn’t worry about it. Usually there’ll be queues and he won’t be finished until another half an hour or so._

_6:09_

 

 

 

____________

_Hey, how would you know this? You’re there aren’t you? I knew you wouldn’t resist. I’ll see you there. You could even persuade him to wait for me. ;)_

_ Message sent _

 

 

 

 

After the last customers left the café, she still had to clean up after them as she did the dishes, threw the rubbish out and mopped the floor. Eventually, she was let out by her manager at half past 6. The Doctor said that she would make it and she would at least make the effort. It’s her favourite author after all and it would be a disappointment on her if she didn’t meet him.

 

 

 

 

She left the café without seconds to spare whilst in the process of putting her coat on and retrieving the umbrella from her bag embracing another rainy, winter’s evening. There was downpour but luckily it wasn’t anything like last week’s, it had been much more moderate.

 

 

 

 

Making a dash across the high street, racing before the red man appeared she ran along the pavement siphoning through a parade of Christmas shoppers heading opposite her. As she neared Waterstones being only several blocks away she quickened her pace and found herself near the entrance within 20 seconds.

 

 

 

 

Closing her umbrella she entered, scanning the shop furiously for any signs of major activity- crowds to indicate that there was a book signing happening. Unwilling to waste any more time she sought for the nearest member of staff and asked.

 

 

 

 

“Is there a book signing this afternoon? Do you know where it is?” She urged, panting from having sprinted to the bookshop in record time. The male worker surveyed Clara who looked drained, her face red. She was still wearing her work clothes having had no time to change. The company logo caught his attention, indicating that she’d worked in another coffeehouse chain, her nametag visible.

 

 

 

 

“There was…” he explained to her.

 

 

 

 

“Was?” she immediately interrupted.

 

 

 

 

“Well it’s taking place downstairs,” he gestured at the stairs leading to the lower floor, “you could still go down to look, there still are people- rather latecomers queuing up but I don’t know if he’d appreciate having more of you down there. Mr. Smith says that he’s waiting for someone before catching his plane. It would much appreciated if you had arrived earlier in the future.”

 

 

 

 

“I have work too like you, not everyone’s free on the weekends.” She replied spitefully before quickly heading downstairs, on the landing and another flight of stairs before reaching the lower floor. At the corner of the room, there indeed had been quite the crowd of people and some sort of line leading towards the author.

 

 

 

 

However, being 5ft 2 proved to be a problem as she was unable to see the person himself. She was greatly anticipating the moment that she would finally see the man as he hadn’t provided an author photo in the book. Clara was excited, feeling a little giddy even. It was like meeting an old friend, to her it was what it had felt like after reading so much on them and their life.

 

 

 

 

Anyhow, she had to calm herself down first before approaching him like a raving lunatic, who looked obsessed and willing drool all over their feet in an attempt to get an autograph. That wouldn’t be very impressionable of her.

 

 

 

 

As she walked towards the line she took her book out and searched for the Doctor, assuming that he was here. She was expecting for him to jump out or materialize behind her but nothing would have prepared her for this.

 

 

 

 

As the crowd dispersed with some walking away happily from having their book signed, it allowed a small window of opportunity between the author and Clara. She had to do a double take at him for seeing is indeed believing.

 

 

 

 

Her eyebrows shot up, eyes widened and her jaw went slack, dropping her book to her lap. She didn’t know why she was feeling this emotion but she couldn’t help it. Her heart sunk into the pit of her stomach.

 

 

 

 

She felt deceived, manipulated, used. People are always a let-down, aren’t they? Clara was angry. She let herself expect too much from this one person, that was the danger. She thought they were friends but she wouldn’t let that sway her, she’ll just put on a happy face and survive. She doesn’t need another ordeal in her life. Besides they weren’t really friends, they’d only met a few times. Was she that susceptible? She blamed her loneliness.

 

 

 

 

But the questions remains, he was staring right at her now, will she approach him still or leave and go home? Clara felt a surge of confidence and decided to be brave. Clara would approach the damned man.

 

 

 

She felt stupid but those hints never did strike to her much. She could have prevented this earlier on.

 

 

 

 

When the line drew ever closer, she’d admit outright that she was nervous. She was quite impulsive in her decisions. She’d always been like that ever since. So she wore a mask and avoided his eye contact, opened her book to the first page and pointed to where she would like his autograph signed. Not that she wanted it _anymore._

 

 

 

 

“Clara-?” He took in the sight of her from his seat, ignoring the others as he showed his palm up asking for them to wait. When she didn’t respond back, avoiding his gaze, he frowned. Signing the book she suddenly spoke.

 

 

 

 

“Mr. Smith, can I ask you a few questions?” He looked up from the book and saw that she was maintaining eye contact but her gaze wasn’t welcoming as she gave him a frosty look and a smile that wasn’t entirely genuine. He could see that she was upset.

 

 

 

 

Nonetheless, he approved as he raised his right brow, leaned back on the chair his legs now crossed. Awaiting those questions, his expression suddenly turned sober.

 

 

 

 

“Mind I ask how old you are?” Clara hears gasps and sees the shaking of heads of the people around her. It was quite unusual and less than appropriate to ask someone of their age, outright like that, she knew, “Fine then, when did you begin writing this memoir?”

 

 

 

 

“My early 40s,” he shook his head too quite confused with her, “sorry, mind I ask why you’re asking me this, _Clara_.”

 

 

 

 

“I think I might have made a few mistakes and misconceptions about **_you_**. Don’t worry it’s not your fault, it’s entirely mine.” She leaned closer stretching across the table with his books.

 

 

 

 

“Also, how’s your significant other? Is she in Scotland right now-” all too suddenly, Clara’s so called confidence went down the drain as she felt a lump form in her throat, restraining her from finishing her sentence. He saw her eyes glistened and immediately stood up from his demeanour to reach out right for her.

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were… I never thought you would.” He was about to reach for her right arm when she showed her palms dismissing him, her head bowed and eyes shut tight. She shook her head forcibly and the last thing he heard from her was a shuddering sob before she took off up the stairs never to be seen again.

 

 

 

 

“What a hysterical girl.” A man muttered as those around him nodded approvingly or made similar comments.

 

 

 

 

“You don’t know half of it,” The Doctor bawled his lilt resounding as he slammed his fists onto the desk, “ ** _damn it!_** ”

 

 

 

 

The crowd jumped, surprised at the outburst. He puts on his _magician’s jacket_ as she once implied and took his phone out navigating through it until she found Clara’s number and dialled it. The store manager who happened to be nearby went to ask him what the hell was going on.

 

 

 

 

“I apologize for all this. I have a plane to catch.” He told the remaining few dozens of people who’ve waited for their books to be signed. Before he could dash off he was stopped by another man who grabbed him by jacket, it was an elderly.

 

 

 

 

“You… you’re not catching your plane, are you?” He asked dubiously, “You’re getting the girl?”

 

 

 

 

“Who’s she?” Another person made a remark and an utterance was heard between the lot.

 

 

 

 

“Good question – someone _important_.” He answered quite in hurried manner as he was still seized by the man, “could I have my arm back?”

 

 

 

 

“Oh-oh yes… of course. You better hurry then, what are you doing wasting your time here?” The elder rebuked and released the Doctor who set off like a gazelle. Everyone could only stare in absolute befuddlement.

 

 

 

 

As soon as the Doctor reached the ground floor he grabbed a member of staff by the shoulder who immediately gave his full attention, “Mr. Smith?”

 

 

 

 

“Yes that’s my name- have you seen Clara?” he demanded from him, he too was panting and out of breath. It seems like everyone is in such a hurry these days.

 

 

 

 

“ _Cla-ra?_ ” He repeats, unsure of what he wants from her- the café girl from earlier.

 

 

 

 

“Yes! CLARA! Small, brown hair and possibly crying,” he informed him, stopping in between as he catches his breath, “you can’t miss her.”

 

 

 

 

“Oh, yes! _Her…_ I saw her running out that way.” The worker gestured to his left and the Doctor was off again, in search of Clara Oswald. However, as soon as he started running of towards the direction he was given, he quickly finds out that he was running around aimlessly without a lead.

 

 

 

 

“You, ma’am!” He begins inquiring strangers where the only answers he’s getting is a no or the typical I’m too busy to mind you answer or just general ignorance.

 

 

 

 

“Excuse me… miss” he really was out of breath now as he’d been running up and down the high street for at least 10 minutes non-stop, “have… you seen… a girl… I mean a woman… brown hair… around 5ft and a bit? Please..?”

 

 

 

 

“Yes, actually. I’ve seen her but who am I giving out this information to? You’re no paedophile are you?” A woman around his age asked him sceptically.

 

 

 

 

“For god’s sakes she’s in her 30s… and if you have seen _my_ Clara then, does she look like a child to you?” the Doctor reasoned.

 

 

 

 

“Alright, don’t need to be so malicious…. I saw her heading towards the park, Holland Park. I think it’s named.” She indicated the general direction she was last seen, “and you’re not a criminal perhaps?"

 

 

 

 

“ ** _NO_** _but…_ thank you for the help.” As soon as he headed en route to his new destination, he could see her from afar walking inside the park. This was a huge relief as quickened his pace. He did not run or else it would alert her of his presence and she doesn’t want to spook her.

 

 

 

 

It was when she disappeared from line of sight did he decide to start running once again, having lost her for a few minutes, she could be anywhere as the place was relatively huge. When he did find her she saw sat on the children’s swings within the playground just ahead of him. It was an unusual sight indeed but if he could capture the moment of her and then in a photograph, all that it would convey is sadness.

 

 

 

 

Opening the gate he joined her as he sat on one of the swings beside her, the atmosphere was rather… toxic, if he was honest and he’d also been scared. He was scared of the outcome of things to be.

 

 

 

 

“Did you stalk me all the way?” She uttered and she was looking at him too, positive body language and all. Clara was serious about this _talk._

 

 

 

 

“No, I had to ask a few people around and I’m hardly a stranger,” he assured her, “…Clara look. I need to clear a few things out for you.”

 

 

 

 

“Yes, you better and to be honest I don’t actually _know_ you anymore so you would be no more than a stranger to me,” she stated rather callously, “I don’t understand you… **_who_** are you?”

 

 

 

 

“I’m just another person, Clara.” The Doctor explained to her firmly.

 

 

 

 

“No you’re not… you weren’t, not to me,” she announced to him profoundly, “I was lonely and you were arse to me but for some baffling reason you wanted to be friends. You stuck out, you noticed me and cared enough to have visited, to talk to me to be just _there…_ and you and many other people would probably say that it’s due to loneliness and longing for companionship but in the end… I think… you’re the one… but _what went wrong?”_

 

 

 

Lightly swinging to and fro she watched her and found that he has his breath caught. For a moment his hopes had been kindled but something overwhelming came over him and his body felt leaden.

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry Clara, I’m so sorry.” His mood plummeted, why can’t he just be happy? Why won’t he pursue this? _It’s because you’re afraid_ , to love…?

 

 

 

 

“I know- I understand… you have someone, a family back at Scotland right?” Clara felt like she was about to give up on everything, she already lost a long time ago and now she can only feel numb all over.

 

 

 

 

“No Clara… listen to me, I’ll tell you why I hate that book so much?” he recalled, finding that it was only appropriate to tell her this now or never, “I hate it because of the ending right? I envy this guy… _Mr. Smith_ because I’m a delusional man. Mr. Smith has only been me until the last chapter. I’m still an alcoholic, there hasn’t been a Mrs. Smith and no family since or so I thought it had been all just fantasy but maybe I’ve been writing about **_us_** , all along. ”

 

 

 

 

Clara sighed, gave a half-smile then a mirthless laugh. “Even so, why would you do something like that? You **_are_**  mad.”

 

 

 

 

“I’m an author Clara, I have to write earn a living. Remember what I’d said? I used to do children’s books but it doesn’t work with the state of mind I’m in so I did a memoir, sort of like therapy. I wrote everything I had to say to the world, it worked really. To be honest it’s all quite depressing but the contents were worthwhile.”

 

 

 

 

“I don’t believe you should be critiquing your own work…” Clara muttered, criticizing him.

 

 

 

 

“Well it was good wasn’t it? You would have never picked up my book if it wasn’t give such attention.” He made his point clear. Clara nodded even so, it was good and there was no reason denying.

 

 

 

 

“Then as I wrote more on more about _me_ , I realized it soon caught up to the present. There was nothing else for me to write and I had to try and I couldn’t let this material go to waste. So I had it sent to my editor, I had to come up with the denouement, the resolution and everyone likes a good ending that would speak to people or it wouldn’t sell out for much.”

 

 

 

 

“So you’ve practically lied to your readers?” She denounced. He nodded at her. It was true.

 

 

 

 

“Yes. I needed the income from this one book but I never thought it would do anyone harm, until you came along.” He jerked his head towards her and saw her got up from the swing to stand right in front of him. He didn’t realize then as she pinned him with her eyes that she had her right arm held out to him, again.

 

 

 

 

“What’s this?” He wasn’t sure whether it was forgiveness or a goodbye, secretly he hoped that it was certainly _not_ the latter.

 

 

 

 

“I’ll see you around, Doctor,” she plastered on a smile, “I don’t what to think about this. I just need some time to think to myself and I’m sure you have to get back to those people. Isn’t this why you’re down here in London?”

 

 

 

 

“I see…” He stood up accordingly, towering her, “I understand,” he confides still not accepting another handshake she was offering but it was best to just get it over with. Yet, rather than just receiving the shaking of hands she had pulled him into a hug. It was brief and in the surprise of it all he had been paralyzed, he lost the window of opportunity to reciprocate the hug and tell her what he really felt and had let her go.

 

 

 

 

“Thank you,” she tells him, “for telling me the truth.” Then she left the playground at first by walking casually, then at a faster pace and it wasn’t long until she was running. She didn’t dare look behind her, she had to get away. For now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry that's certainly not the end. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments and Kudos are appreciated as always! :)
> 
> (I will respond to comments from now on with my other fics, I do read them. I'm just always anxious to reply.)


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

  
The ringing of the telephone resounded, filling the silence with a sharp beeping tune throughout the house. Alerted by the sudden disturbance of an incoming call, footfalls from the nearby stairs was heard before there was a pause of stillness and silence as he picked up the phone located within the living room.

 

 

  
“…Clara?” He’d greeted in a raspy voice with an undertone.

 

 

  
  
“Clara? Who’s Clara? Hello, John?” It wasn’t Clara. Of course it wasn’t why in the universe would she call him in his telephone when she didn’t have its number?

 

 

“Ahem~” a retching noise was heard from the other end of the line, whoever it was, they sure weren’t in great shape, “yes sorry, it’s Erst isn’t it? Ms Erst, I… I did know you we’re calling.” John clarified.

 

 

 

“John, are you drunk again?” The woman at the end of the line disapproved. She had an intonation similar to his and had a dulcet and imposing voice.

 

 

  
“No, no… I was asleep, just caught me off guard thinking you were someone… else,” straight to the point as he could possibly get he requested, “so how was it, the story? It’s bad isn’t it?”

 

 

  
“Difficult to say… I do like the concept going on here though, there were some elements you could improve on and the characters doesn’t see too much development and you know what they say more is less which could be implied on some of your writing,” Ms Erst expressed accompanied by the distinct noise of rustling paper where she was most likely looking through his draft and her notes, “why don’t we meet up somewhere convenient? I know a great place, meet me outside the station on the high-street tomorrow at what, 5pm? We’ll talk about it then.”

 

 

  
“Alright, thanks.” Immediately the line was severed and then it was another tedious trek upstairs. The thought of moving the telephone for better access faltered in his mind for a few seconds before realizing the effort it would take to do so. He would need to do the wiring and he won’t be the one to do it and certainly no stranger was going to set foot in this house to do it for him.

 

 

 

  
Also, as the days grew closer towards Christmas he found himself progressively drinking more therefore, he wouldn’t allow the state of his home to be witnessed by another person and the bottles had to go somewhere besides the recycling point.

 

 

 

  
  
Speaking of Christmas, he had been particularly bitter about it. It wasn’t like he was going to spend it with anyone worthwhile and at a time to be with family and friends, it really takes into account of how alone and alienated he is from the world. Being the only person left from his family and in terms of extended family- he hasn’t heard from them in years. They’d probably thought he was dead too.

 

 

 

  
  
While he had no friends, he has one or had one which was Clara but again he was still unsure. He had been replaying that night over and over again and was positive that she had said see you later other than a goodbye. Goodbye as in THE END- I never want to see you again or we’re done.

 

 

 

  
  
John had wondered what Clara would be doing at Christmas. He was inclined to think that she would spend it with what he’d presumed to be a large family, with cousins, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews coming in to celebrate the holiday.

 

 

 

  
  
Lying in his bed contemplating, although quite envious, he knew better not to pity himself. If anything, Clara deserves her time with her family being happy without him in her picture. Having heard her subtle confession on how she’d felt about him, maybe it would be best if they never become anything more than friends to spare her the trouble and hurt. Maybe that would help them recognize what really was there in the first place, a great friendship. It was a good stepping stone and maybe it would help get rid that ghastly feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

 

  
  
_.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-.

 

 

  
  
Christmas was only 3 weeks away and Clara still didn’t have any idea what to get her family presents. As she found herself free all day afternoon, she decided it was best to get it done and over with. She just had to endure another 2 hours of work, maybe it would be a good time to start thinking of what exactly she was going to get. Firstly, it must be within her budget meaning no more than £50 spent on each present and no perishable items such as food and…

 

 

  
“-Excuse me?” Clara looked at the customer then the long line that had suddenly formed behind him.

 

 

  
  
She gave their trademark smile and replied with her sugar-coated voice, “Yes, how may I help you sir?”

 

 

 

  
“Can I get a-aa uhm,” he looked at the menu above her, “can I get a Caramel macchiato… venti…. double shot of espresso and extra caramel”

 

 

 

  
Clara sighed inwardly, this person sure has a sweet tooth. She pressed onto her concept keyboard to show her customer the price. At least, her 2 hours would go by fast.

 

 

 

  
It was 3pm when she left for good. It was significantly colder this week as the cool winter’s air slapped her cheeks. Even if time was at her side she didn’t want to stay outside any longer and so she marched up the pavement towards a well-known store. Sounds of various vehicles and the slight murmurings of the shoppers amongst her were heard and there were the Red London buses that contrasted the disappointingly grey skies seen lumbering through the road.

 

 

 

  
Clara made headway into John Lewis hoping that all she would need would be in that single department store. In the end she had managed to get her step-mother a hand bag which really did not take much thought and her grandmother who was as big of a reader as she was (perhaps is this where she’d inherited her love for books), a Kindle as Clara was able to recall her asking if she could get one for the specific occasion.

 

 

 

  
2 hours within her Christmas shopping and still she had nothing for her Dad. She found that in all the years shopping for presents, her Dad’s was the most difficult. Sure, she could just buy him socks and or a tie but it would show that she’d given in the least effort with his present, still she just couldn’t think of anything creative and so thought to buy him a men’s shaving kit. Anyway, Christmas was a time to be with your family- gifts were just an added bonus. Weren’t they?

 

 

 

  
Starving from her Christmas shopping expedition, she decided to get a take away from her favourite Japanese restaurant to eat at home. Now looking more like a typical Christmas shopper with her bags looped around her arms she waited at a bus stop just down the road where she got her food from. Sat beneath the bus shelter she looked up to see the time table and found that her bus would be arriving within 10 minutes.

 

 

 

  
Believing that those few seconds would go by rather uneventfully, she would think otherwise as a well-dressed, middle-aged woman inquired for the time. Though not after continuing on from her book as if to look occupied and as unapproachable with her earphones on, had she realized that she was asking her. Clara looked up to see the person before her who was pulling alongside what looked like a costly Black Leather Handbag Luggage.

 

 

 

  
Her face looked severe and stoic with her carmine coloured lipstick, her eyebrows poignant and striking, and her hair tied back in a bun without a single strand of hair out of place - like your stereotypical headmistress from hell. Although, Clara rid her mind out of all the prejudice and stereotype and replied back, “Sorry,” she indicated at her earphones, “I didn’t quite catch that.”

 

 

 

  
“Could you tell me what time it is? It’s either the time is wrong on the time table or the person I’m waiting for is late.” Clara was able to notice a slight brogue indicating that she wasn’t local, which was interesting to say the least.

 

 

 

  
“Uhm, according to my phone,” she retrieved her smartphone from her pocket and found that it was nearing quarter past 5 in the afternoon, “it is… 12 minutes past 5.” She nodded at her and showed her the phone in confirmation and the woman nodded back in good authority.

 

 

 

  
“I guess he isn’t here yet… right, see I just came out from this station and this man is nowhere to be seen. I swear to god if I find him not sober then-” amidst her ramble having stared intently at the book on Clara’s hand she suddenly changed topics, “could I take a look at that?”

 

 

 

  
It was true that Clara has never met this woman in her life but with that domineering tone of voice she spoke with, Clara was compelled to hand it to her without question. She was flicking through the pages and Clara couldn’t help feel a bit uneasy as she looked through her notes, written throughout the pages- where she had analysed and evaluated the author’s words as if to find a deeper meaning within it all. A chuckle from the woman was a large kick to the face, she was being humiliated!

 

 

 

  
“Can I- I have my book back?” Clara had demanded from her but all that could be heard was a whiny squeak of a mouse.

 

 

 

  
“I’ll tell you what,” the woman had looked right back at her, “I was his editor.” She told Clara haughtily, tapping at the spine of the book where the author’s name was printed.

 

 

 

  
“You’re kidding,” the younger woman remarked, seeing the indifference on her face she quickly corrected herself, “I mean you are? Really…? No…” Clara’s eyes widened, she was in shock – out of all the people in the world and she was stood in front of her.

 

 

 

 

“I must say, I don’t know why you insist in calling him this Doctor,” the woman shook her head quite clearly bemused by this fact, “I’ll let you into a secret, it’s quite scandalous so you better not tell anyone or you’ll have a difficult time getting rid of me… ready?” Clara nodded intrigued with the promise of new information, “the whole book is a lie or so he’s told me, so there’s no reason for you to do all this…”

 

 

 

  
“Not everything on there is a lie…” Clara tried to rectify.

 

 

 

  
  
“Now who told you that?” Clara didn’t answer to that question and as her eyes wandered to the distant stretch of the pavement her heart did a somersault then all the blood drained from her face.

 

 

 

  
“I’ll admit what you’ve written is good…” The editor continued to flick through the pages, “It is a shame though.”

 

 

 

  
“What is?” Clara insisted sounding hurried.

 

 

 

  
“Well you’re working minimum wage? It’s just unfortunate,” she eyed her work clothes, “and I mean I’m guessing you’ve done some work in Language and Literature, just wasting away you’re talent like that is just… pure laziness.”

 

 

 

  
Fuming, Clara ought to retort back on how little she knew of her situation and the nerve of this woman threatened Clara’s composure to topple over as she quivered with indignation.

 

 

 

  
“Anyways, I see that he’s arrived… John, that is. I want you to meet the man.” The woman looked at the distinctive figure a few blocks away from them and she walked over to approach him.

 

 

 

  
Clara, in frantic was searching her bag only feeling reprieve in finding her sunglasses. Although, mismatched with the gloomy weather, anything to hide appearance would do as she put her hood up, the sunglasses on and had even pulled up her scarf to her nose.

 

 

 

  
“Oh my stars… oh my stars… oh my stars…” She uttered in a mantra, “please… no…” Then it had struck her, she looked over her shoulders and saw the woman still in possession of her book. She could just run away, she told herself as she reached for her shopping bags but found her in quite a predicament. Her bus was nearing her stop and she couldn’t run now since the woman had now turned around, back towards her, “I can’t believe this…”

 

 

 

“Here she is…” She led John towards the younger woman, “the one who’s practically written a whole thesis on your book.”

 

 

 

  
Clara looked up and saw him and he certainly looked the same as before with his attire but if there were some things amiss it would be the disappointment that sagged through his body and the grief that hollowed his eyes.

 

 

 

  
Did she do this to him? Or is this who really John Smith is - a hopeless alcoholic?

 

 

 

 

It was obvious enough to see that he had been succumbing to his addiction but Clara can't help feel guilt, convinced that it was she who had spurred to do what he had done and worry, without a doubt, because surely, he'll end up dead within the week if he continues like this!

 

 

  
“Go on, introduce yourself I’m doing you a favour here.” His editor asserted. She looked at the handshake that she was presented with and Clara was sure that he would immediately recognize her if she’d taken it.

 

 

 

  
“Can I – ah… get like a hug instead? I'm like your uh... greatest fan...!” The young woman requested boldly, although she had the feeling that he would probably decline it, since his ordeal with human contact. Although, it looked like he could do with one right now and so she decided to give it to him.

 

 

 

 

As expected, it seemed like he didn’t particularly enjoy it as he didn’t reciprocate to it and Clara felt her throat tighten painfully, as she felt an overwhelming feeling wash over her. She’d never experienced anything like this for everyone and she couldn’t understand it herself and it wasn’t because of the hug, it was knowing all the pain he withheld.

 

 

 

 

Seeing the look of surprise from both their faces and the passengers boarding onto her bus, Clara promptly grabbed her bags and entered the double decker narrowly avoiding her Christmas shopping from being squashed by the closing doors.

 

 

 

 

  
Clara didn’t dare as much show her head to him in fear of getting recognized and though as much as she would have liked to have her book back, she wouldn’t take the risk of being found out. All her recent, personal thoughts and feelings written on it- a major embarrassment for her if anyone else were to read it and the last thing she would want is any association with it.

 

 

 

 

Climbing up the flight of stairs to the upper deck seats, she felt her eyes had become wet from excess tears. She was crying, being emotional again – it was probably just her loneliness acting up. Maybe she did need him, but that was just her mind being selfish. No, it wasn’t that… from what he had looked like, perhaps it was him who needed her more but who was she to decide these things?

 

 

  
  
_.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-._.-=-.

 

 

  
“What the hell was that just then?” John looked at his editor, her face equally in shock, “Nevermind, let’s get indoors, I’m not staying out here any longer than I have to.”

 

 

 

  
He followed the woman into a very familiar place just down the high street, there they decided to discuss his recent works. Her dark coloured dress flowing behind her as she pulled her bag along her – the sound of rolling wheels and heels along the pavement made her difficult to lose sight of.

 

 

 

 

The welcoming scent of freshly brew coffee, wafted through the air as soon as they had opened the door. Usually the café would be his place of solitude, where his ideas come into fruition and a place where he would be inclined to feel a bit more relaxed and at ease but with the fact that this very café was where his special friend was working and where he was sat was where she had sat the last time she’d seen her, it proved difficult to feel anything but relaxed.

 

 

 

  
“So how are we John?” Ms Erst addressed him as soon as she gave him his order of a cup of hot coffee.

 

 

 

  
“Yes, better…” he lied. As he received his coffee he took several packets of sugar, ripped it open and poured its contents into the dark liquid and as he did this, the editor asked him a rather imprudent question.

 

 

 

  
“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourself in to a break up now?” She began, “You’re not even trying anymore and I told you if you get into these silly things, **_relationships,_ ** when you’re still in such a state you’ll just make it even worse for yourself.” She was tutting and reprimanding him and with someone who’s heavily hungover, easily irritable and none-so willing to talk about his personal life - he was surprised that he hadn’t raised his voiced at her, even now.

 

 

 

 

“It’s nothing like that. Now tell me about the book, if that is what our time together is for.” He looked at her squarely and she looked back at him sharply then after a pause he saw her reach for her bag to acquire the draft of his story. The pile was about the same height as his coffee mug. John thought to review her work on it but she’d seized it from his grasp before he had anything to say about it.

 

 

 

  
“Right, then let’s get started on the reasons why I am giving this back to you. First of all, it’s just weird John what you’ve done here- what genre even is it? It’s difficult to discern but I’m sure we’ll just put it under mainstream fiction.” The woman said, tapping her fountain pen onto wooden table.

 

 

 

  
“That was the general idea in the first place,” John confirmed as he dropped his elbows on the surface to stop the percussion which thankfully was enough of an indication, “ but it was intended to be science-fiction.”

 

 

 

  
“Is it really?” She quipped, “Hold on, let’s start from the beginning. So this character of yours is some sort of Time Traveller that travels throughout time and space inside a telephone box called a TARDIS?”

 

 

 

  
“That is what I’ve written, yes.” John supposed.

 

 

 

  
“Well, then how is it science-fiction when he’s stuck in England out of all the places in the universe?” She snorted, shaking her head as she turned to page 147 of his draft and explained her notes, “too many running scenes throughout the whole story… there would be at least 4 chapters if you compile them together, of your protagonist running away from these enemies which you call… Daleks?”

 

 

 

  
“Yes, Daleks- they are an alien race who seek to find the Doctor and exterminate him.”

 

 

 

  
“Why is that?” Ms Erst surmised as the corner of her mouth lifted, “Why do the Daleks want to get rid of this Doctor, what do they have against him?”

 

 

 

John exhaled into his mug as he sipped his coffee, his right eyebrow shot up perfectly knowing why his editor had asked this from him but he his face contorted from the taste of the concoction. It was so bitter, burnt and astringent in taste that adding anymore sachets of sugar to suppress the taste would have him end up in high coma from high blood pressure. He was exaggerating of course so instead he set the mug of dreadful coffee to one side.

 

 

 

  
_Clara makes great coffee. At least she gives the effort in her work and the situation she’s in. Unlike the person who had made this poor attempt. It’s a wonder that this barista is still employed._

 

 

 

  
“John, are you listening to me?” She challenged him in a chiding manner. He slowly nodded back to her as he looked at the person working behind the till. It wasn’t Clara by all means, since he would have never stepped foot inside the café in the first place. It would be breaking her request if he did, she wanted time away from the Doctor and he would keep her word besides it would terribly awkward if they did encounter one another. Still, he was curious on how she was faring.

 

 

 

  
“No, I heard you fine,” he answered rather brusquely and clasped his hands as he began, “Right the Daleks you say… they are aliens capable of no emotions but hatred and their creator called Davros had commanded them to exterminate the Doctor for revenge.”

 

 

 

  
  
“What would this revenge be?” She pried further. John did not have a clue to where else these inquiries were going but he answered without delay.

 

 

 

  
  
“I suppose Davros wanted revenge from his past encounters with the Doctor- he may have lost a battle against him or taken something invaluable from him…” Then a line etched between her brows and she paused for a moment in contemplation. She picked up John’s draft and flicked through the pages skimming and scanning through the text and her notes and she found what she was looking for or rather what she couldn’t find.

 

 

 

  
  
“I don’t see it Doctor,” she told him as she slammed her hand on the draft with purpose, “I don’t recall you explaining why Davros wanted revenge? Even you’re not clear with the explanation you had given to me, did Davros lose a battle against the Doctor or had the Doctor taken a priced possession from him?”

 

 

 

  
  
“If you’ll excuse me Miss.” he announced as he stood abruptly, the sound of wood scraping onto porcelain tiles ended the conversation.

 

 

 

  
“Don’t tell me your leaving now, John, I’m not finished.” She too stood up to look up at him, sticking her nose in the air, displeased.

 

 

 

  
“Certainly not, I’ll join you in a moment,” John said with much apathy, “I find that my beverage doesn’t suit my standards at all.”

 

 

 

  
He left her immediately then joined in the queue in his quest of reviving his coffee. Eventually, at the end of the queue he spoke to the man at the till and complained about the aforementioned beverage and requested to meet the person who had concocted the disaster that had been mistakenly sold to him as coffee, so that he could have a couple of words with him.

 

 

  
  
“I’m sorry to hear this sir but we’re unable to do that,” He told him, “his shift has already ended. He has already left but if you have any complaints I will gladly call the supervisor to attend to you.”

 

 

 

  
“Please.” was John’s respond. A few moments passed and the same shift supervisor arrived from before seemingly eager to discuss the matter.

 

 

 

  
“Yes sir, what seems to be the problem?” He moved away from the till to the end of the counter, inciting John to follow to allow the other customers to be served and so they would be able to speak in relative private.

 

 

 

  
“I implore you to try this coffee, I’m not trying to be spiteful but I’m not impressed with it at all. Tell me if this is the standard of coffee you wish to serve to your customers to represent your corporation.” John told the supervisor. The man looked at John in question, in his thoughts he remembered him and his dealings with his other colleagues and he remembered the argument between him and Clara. Although as strange as it was- the next day- it was as if the man had completely changed personalities. If he was that forgiving with the girl he might as well do what he was told and get it over with as he certainly did not want to suffer any verbal abuse and if the drink was as bad as he mentions it to be- he was to judge.

 

 

 

  
Begrudgingly he took the mug and took a sip of it to sample. The grimace that had formed in his face was enough to tell himself how really distasteful the coffee was. The supervisor had apparently found out what the problem was. It was sickeningly sweet!

 

 

 

  
“Sir, the problem may be with the amount of sugar you’ve added into it!” The man asserted as he contorted away from the customer and reached for the sink pour the contents down the drain.

 

 

 

  
  
“I’ve only added 15 sachets!” The peculiar customer informed him, confounded. Unbeknownst to him, the whole conversation had unfolded in front of the public’s eyes who in truth found the scene to be whimsical. The minority were shaking their heads laughing but mostly there were those who were just listening in, who found that they were as confounded, finding that 15 sachets of sugar added into a relatively small mug of coffee to be ludicrous by itself and one of them was shown to be Ms Erst.

 

 

 

 

"I'm afraid that our tastes might differ from one another, we could produce another cup of coffee to your liking. Free of charge if you wish." The man nodded at him to see if he would approve.

 

 

 

 

"That would be great... thanks." John replied hoping that this time around he hoped they wouldn't make the same mistake and try to kill him with whatever they had put in that coffee in the first place. The supervisor was by the slight relieved that one of their customer was at the least now a bit more satisfied with the offer he had so generously given. He then asked him if there were anymore accompanying questions that he would need him answering and if he would still want to file a formal complaint, as it was customary to do so as required from his job.

 

 

 

 

"Actually, yes I do have another question," John suddenly said in a whisper, "I uh have a question regarding one of your employees, Clara? How is she? I haven't seen her for a couple of days now because I haven't frequent this place that often as of recent."

 

 

 

 

"I don't think I'm in a position to say anything about my employees." The supervisor's eyes suddenly turned serious.

 

 

 

 

"I'm a friend of Clara's... please just tell me anything." John clarified firmly, his temples throbbing, "look, I don't know what the problem is  _sir_ , but is it wrong to ask for another person's welfare?" Silence separated the two into their thoughts whilst John waited for a response from him.

 

 

 

 

"Clara's doing alright," the man eventually revealed, "although with any other person their outright expression doesn't necessarily represent the way they actually feel on the inside. In terms of her performance at work, in her recent shifts she has worked at a very high standard consistently and nothing has troubled her to the extent that her work performance is poorer as of the usual. Is that all sir?"

 

 

 

 

"So when do you expect her to be working again, is it her shift tomorrow?" He is of course asking this so he knows where she could be at what time to prevent him from encountering her as he usually uses this café specifically for work. Although, he wouldn't mind going elsewhere to do it instead, for Clara's sake.

 

 

 

 

"She- Clara I'm afraid doesn't work here anymore," the supervisor disclosed, "she had given in a resignation letter a little more than just a week ago, today was her last shift."

 

 

 

 

"Why would she leave?" John asked himself and then addressed the supervisor, "is there a reason to why she's left? No-no... actually, that's all I need to know thank you for your help." Again, with their trademark smile, the shift supervisor nodded before returning into its seclusion inside the authorised personnel room- no surprise.

 

 

 

 

John, however was brimming with even more questions to be answered in relation to his special friend. Why had she resigned work? He knew that it was likely that she was unhappy with the wages she'd received. It wasn't impossible.

 

 

 

 

Perhaps it was because she did not fancy the chances of her meeting him again . This was probably the goodbye she had wanted in the end the goodbye, I never want to see you again goodbye. It was  _t_ _he end_ for him and he would never see her again. Thinking about it, who would want to form any sort of relationships with a liar, good-for-nothing, hopeless, mad alcoholic man. Any normal human being with common sense would be smart enough to avoid him, what would make Clara the exception?

 

 

 

Maybe his editor had been right all along. There was to be no closure for him, no light at the end of the tunnel, no relationships to ever be formed- not in his mental state, he was helpless and he could not do anything about it  ** _at all_**. That was another massive lie, he could do absolutely everything about his situation- he could consult psychological help but John was too afraid of a scandal happening that if he was revealed to be a fraud it would, he wouldn't be able to handle the situation and find himself absolutely broken and there was his career being completely ruined as well.

 

 

 

 

Well why couldn't just John moved on and forget the past and start anew? The reason being was because he was so bound as an author to adhere to this man from his book who happens to share his name and the most pivotal events of his life- this was a remarkable man who has done to most commendable thing and fully recover from alcoholism and was living happily with a supposed partner. His partner who was his saviour and the catalyst for his determination and courage, that had helped him to escape his demons!

 

 

 

If John Smith was ever to be revealed to actually be a man in constant conflict, a severe alcoholic and a man without mention of a partner and a content life, it would damage so many relationship between him and his readers. Those readers who have grown to revere the fictional John Smith where many had formed meaningful connections with him, related with him and sympathised with him and that was ultimately, what he was afraid of. Being an author would serve no meaning to him then if that were to ever happen. He feels regret, it had felt like a curse, no it was a punishment for his greed. This is what lying has gotten him into because he couldn't face the painful truth when his wife had left him for another man.

 

 

 

He thought that he would always live on his self-induced illusion and create this fictional John Smith for his own pride and so that he could quickly make money out of it. He truly was pitiful. Now he's a coward that hides behind lies and deceit. The light of the tunnel certainly wasn't there just yet, that was because the train hadn't even started moving. If John wanted to make amends, who would need to take action now. This was his one last gamble, if ever wants to see Clara again- because he would never find another chance to happiness without her. It's not like he would ever find someone like her ever again in his life time.

 

 

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer than other chapters. I'm so sorry for anyone who has waited this long, it probably doesn't make up for my long absence.  
> I thank my friend for giving me the courage after such a long writer's block to start writing again. I will update my other story soon.  
> Thank you for sticking around.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are appreciated. It what keeps me writing... I feed on feedback and snack on kudos from time to time.


End file.
